


for all intents and purposes

by skatingsplits



Series: we couldn't bring the columns down [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, I'm a bad person i guess, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Teacher-Student Relationship, at all, there's literally no plot at all, zelda spellman deserves orgasms and hair stroking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 01:12:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17376731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: He very much enjoys his position as a teacher but Faustus would be lying if he said he devoted a lot of energy to academia. Not when there are far more interesting things to keep him busy.





	for all intents and purposes

**Author's Note:**

> I got a tumblr prompt: 'could you write something where Faustus accidentally uncovers Zelda’s praise kink. Bonus points if it’s incredibly smutty' and immediately dropped all my WIPs to write 4k words of porn. C'est la vie.  
> Check the tags, please; if it's not for you, don't read!

 

He very much enjoys his position as a teacher but Faustus would be lying if he said he devoted a lot of energy to academia. It’s the trappings, the perquisites, that had tempted him to take the job; the comfort and luxury of his own office, the sway he holds over keen young minds, the prestige of his position within the coven all outrank the interest he has in interpreting the Satanic scriptures or perfecting ancient hexes. Of course, there are other, less seemly perks to the job that he’s had a little difficulty resisting. He doesn’t really find the obvious desperation of young witches and warlocks sitting across from him in the firelight wondering if there’s anything they could do to improve their academic standing very attractive, but the sheer volume of them makes it a numbers game that a man with a healthy sexual appetite just couldn’t beat.

Still, it isn’t just the fringe benefits that make Faustus and his academic position so suited to one another. He doesn’t think it’s an overstatement to say that he’s always had a singular gift for research; when a hypothesis catches his interest, he’ll give it his single-minded attention until he’s collected enough evidence to either confirm or discard his theory. As an otherwise idle student, this trait had garnered him a reputation as a gifted scholar that is presumably largely responsible for his appointment at the Academy but it’s currently proving rather useful in the non-scholastic aspects of his life. Or rather, the aspects of his life that would have stayed far away from entwining with the scholastic if he’d had just a modicum more self-control.

  
He blames himself, really, for his own lack of restraint but it would be far easier to blame her; it was almost amusing how hard she’d tried to get his attention. Faustus is fairly certain that she thought she was being subtle, leaning down over his desk just a little too far when she handed him her paper, accidentally interrupting in her dressing gown when he dropped in to visit her brother, crossing and uncrossing her legs in the middle of seminars in attire that had become more and more revealing as the year had gone on. Nothing _too_ overt, nothing that would take away her plausible deniability of having done anything at all if he’d taken it upon himself (as he probably should have done) to kindly but firmly reject her. Zelda Spellman is good at this little game, undeniably, but he himself is a master and he’d been well aware that she wanted him before she even seemed to realise it herself, certainly before she started showing up to conjuring class in shirts with three too-many buttons undone.

He’s always loved playing cat and mouse but it’s even more entertaining when you let the mouse think it’s the one with the claws before swallowing it whole. Her gratification when he’d eventually done just that, kissed her soundly in what was supposed to be a tutoring session but had instead turned into a session of trading innuendos until the air was so thick with them that it would frankly have been ridiculous not to, had been immense and immensely titillating. Faustus is fairly certain she’d have sunk to her knees right then and there if he hadn’t reminded her that there was a queue of other students waiting outside and he wasn’t especially keen on sharing.

  
When he’d finally fucked her, it had been more than worth breaking the unwritten rule about sleeping with students; Zelda is delicious, to look at, to talk to, and particularly to touch. Truth be told, he finds her more fascinating than he’d ever care to admit and what he’d intended to be a one-time occurrence to satisfy his curiosity about exactly what that pretty face looks like when she’s coming had turned into something rather more prolonged. It’s been three months and he’s still fascinated, still finding new things to explore every time he gets her into bed. And how is he supposed to abandon a research project halfway through, with so many delights still left to uncover? There’s one little thing in particular that’s caught his attention, something that he has no intention whatsoever of leaving unexplored.

  
The first time he noticed it, he’d been lounging in his office chair, eyes closed in bliss while her hot, eager hand stroked over him with a glorious amount of skill and dexterity. It shouldn’t have surprised him, how talented those fingers are; even if he hadn’t heard Edward complain a thousand times about his little sister’s bed-hopping, Zelda has recently proved to him beyond all doubt that the seductive sway of her hips and the come-hither narrowing of her eyes are not empty promises. Still, Faustus was almost overcome with how delightful it felt, so much so that he had to reluctantly open his eyes and put out his own hand to stop hers. As difficult as it is to resist when she twists her wrist like that, he had no intention of spilling into her hand that evening, not when that tight little cunt was waiting, no doubt as soaking wet for him as always. Zelda pouted when he stilled her movement but it wasn’t hard to chase that sulky moue away with a hungry kiss.

  
‘I’m afraid you’re far too good at that, sweetheart’ he’d moved to make his mark on her creamy white throat as he spoke, inhaling the seductive scent of her perfume, but even in his distraction, he’d noticed the way her chest had heaved and flushed before his mouth had actually made contact with her skin. At the time, he’d been too preoccupied with sucking pretty purple bruises down her décolletage to pay it much heed, even more so when she’d moved to straddle his thighs and made him struggle to remember his own name, let alone anything else.

Later though, when she’d vanished in a cloud of red hair and black silk and swollen lips, Faustus had had to give it some further consideration. With anyone else, he might have passed it off as a coincidence, merely anticipatory pleasure of his touch but with Zelda, it doesn’t seem like a huge leap of the imagination to assume it might be something deeper. It really isn’t that surprising; Zelda’s polished exterior might be all vanity and hauteur but she’s always been so very eager to please, striven so hard to prove herself the best. Why wouldn’t validation of that superiority have a knock-on effect right between those very pretty thighs? He’d wondered if she knew, if any of the half-baked boys that she’d let fuck her had uncovered that delightful little kink. Wondered too how far it might go, how deep, whether he could get her wet and writhing without a single touch if he managed to tap into that craving well enough.

  
The next time he decides to experiment, they're once again in his office (he's fairly sure that she's getting off on that too, given how vehemently she dismisses his suggestions of other meeting places, but even he can only deal with so much at a time). Zelda is currently on her knees in front of him, fully dressed and looking practically untouched if you disregarded her open, occupied mouth.

  
‘So good’ he purrs, one hand stroking through soft golden curls ‘Such a good girl, Zelda.’ If he’d had any doubt before, it completely vanishes when her face lights up like a chandelier at his words. ‘You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart. Such a pretty picture, you on your knees for me with your mouth full’ Zelda moans, and although the vibration around his cock feels wonderful, seeing how heavy with lust her eyes are is almost as good.

  
‘Are you this good at eating cunt as well, precious? I bet you are, that talented little tongue would be wasted on cock alone' It doesn’t hurt that she speeds up the movement of her head, and the way the hand wrapped around the base of him starts trembling is a very happy side effect but knowing that he can make her shake with excitement with just a few well-chosen phrases is what makes him tighten his grip on her hair and have to restrain himself from fucking her mouth as hard as he fucks her cunt.

  
When he's spent, it takes longer than usual to get his breath back and when he does, she's standing in front of the mirror to reapply that perennially-present lipstick. He beckons her over but she shakes her head archly, a small, self-satisfied smile playing on her lips.

  
‘I have Demonology, and we aren't all willing to risk our academic careers for the sake of an orgasm' her mocking him should be irritating, Faustus knows, but as she sways back over to him, he merely feels an unbidden fondness that shakes him up inside and he decides to wholeheartedly ignore. He brushes her hair back from her face when she leans down to kiss him quickly despite the fresh red pout.

  
‘I can't imagine there's much risk there, my clever girl’ it's the first time he's tried it when they're not actually fucking and he's pleased to see that the effect is much the same. Zelda swallows, the tip of her tongue darting out to moisten those delicious lips and puts her hand to her flushed chest in a movement that he's fairly sure is unconscious. That's the best thing about proving a hypothesis, Faustus has always thought; seeing physical evidence that justifies one's idle speculations. Especially when the physical evidence comes in such a delightful form.

  
Now that he’s uncovered this for certain, he’s keen to see exactly how he can make it work for him. He catches her and her brother in Edward's study and praises Zelda's academic achievement sky-high; Edward looks pleased and proud, Zelda looks like she's about to come all over her brother's desk chair. When marking her (genuinely excellent) essay, he scrawls ‘good girl' on the last page and imagines her going home soaking, making herself come thinking about it. Faustus takes himself in hand that night, thinks about her moaning and writhing beneath him and it's only after he's cleaned himself up that he wonders just what he's gotten himself into. This one little thing has begun to consume the majority of his waking moments (and a pretty significant portion of his sleeping ones) and it drives him crazy.

He briefly wonders if this might be why she'd set her cap at him, because of the validation he can give her. If she's just been fantasizing about fucking her teacher rather than fucking him. It's possible, and possible that she presumes he's doing the same thing, getting off on being wanted by anything young and pretty. That couldn't be further removed from the truth. It's frankly become annoyingly distracting, the way he just wants her all the time. He's never experienced this before, this fixation on someone else's pleasure, and certainly not this need to overwhelm her with it, to make her desperate for what he can give her. Regaining his firm footing is rapidly becoming an urgent need.

  
Later on, he'll be able to claim that he tried his best. He'd arranged to rendezvous in his office once more, the place where he supposedly has the upper hand, has his freshly-pressed shirt on and cane in hand, is well prepared to play his part to perfection. That all flies out of the window when she walks through the door.

  
Although the room is warm, the fire burning away in its grate, Faustus has to suppress a shiver when she meets his eyes. Zelda looks like she’s burning as hot as the fire in the grate is, her usual smooth mask of unruffled superiority completely vanished. When she moves over to kiss him, hungry and eager, it takes a moment and some serious effort for his brain to catch up with his unthinking body and pull away. A look of confusion briefly flashes across her face before he steps back to put some distance between his traitorous body and her tempting one, and then Zelda’s face falls as though she’s been sentenced to a thousand years in the pit.

  
‘Forgive me, I assumed that you wanted-’ her voice trembles a little but it’s icy cold, and it wouldn’t take a genius to tell that she’s very hastily trying to re-erect her steely internal armour. He makes a noise like he’s soothing a skittish horse, and although he doesn’t move closer, his hands come to rest on her hips.

  
‘Zelda, Zelda...’ her face has relaxed a little, no longer looks like he’d staked her through the heart, but the body beneath his hands is still as stiff as a sheet of iron. ‘Don’t be absurd. I couldn’t even begin to tell you what I want to do to you.’ She'd told him once in a post-coital moment of weakness that the sound of his voice was enough to get her wetter than an October day; he'd been flattered, obviously, but that little piece of information had proved far more useful as an aid to get her writhing than as a balm to his ego.

  
‘Try’ she quips and leans in to kiss him again, looking utterly perplexed when he keeps her at arm’s length, and a smile comes to his face unbidden. He really shouldn’t be so gratified by her want, but it’s difficult not to be.

  
‘Get undressed for me, Zelda’ he lets his hands drop from her hips again and drinks in the little smile she can’t contain, the way her usually steady fingers rush to the fastenings of her clothing. Sinking into the chair behind his desk, he watches as she does exactly as he says. The gradual revealing of her flesh is a more than welcome sight but Faustus is slightly more focused on the little details; the way she has to try three times to get one particular button undone because her delicate fingers are shaking; the little tear she makes in her stockings in her impatience to remove them; how haphazardly she kicks off her shoes, far removed from her usual meticulousness. When she’s finished, the look on her face isn’t quite shyness or modesty, he’s sure, but it is reserved- as if she’s waiting for approval or appreciation before showing any of her own. As if she doesn’t know that the sight of her is enough to make him lose every single ounce of self-control he’s ever possessed, though she surely must. Satan knows, he hasn’t exactly made it a secret.

  
‘Come here’ he says softly and the speed with which she does is tantalising. He’d intended on teasing her, winding her up tightly to see her come apart for him and feel her shatter but at present, he feels far too close to shattering himself. In an attempt to forestall that internal fracturing, he pats his knee insistently and when she settles herself in his lap, murmurs the words he knows will accord him at least a little control; ‘Good girl.’

  
Zelda sighs, almost preening, and her pleasure is delicious. Her head tilts towards his as though she intends to kiss him again and for the third time in an unreasonably short space of time, he has to decline those incredibly tempting lips, pressing his finger to her mouth.

  
‘I don’t believe I heard you ask for permission, Zelda. Or have you forgotten how to behave?’ she shakes her head vigorously in response, lashes fluttering as he traces his finger over her lower lip. The waxy red lipstick still looks intact but it’s left a stain on the pad of his finger and he briefly indulges in thinking about it rubbing off on his mouth, his neck, his cock. It’s a seductive image but he’s not ready to make it reality; he wants her frustrated, frantic, desperate for him before giving her what she wants. He’s addicted to it, to her. The way her forehead crinkles when she’s trying to stop herself begging for him, the shuddering of her entire body when his teeth scrape over one particular spot on her throat, the tartness of her cunt and how deliciously wet she gets, the way he can make that buttoned-up beacon of self-possession into a quivering wreck with his mouth and hands. He always likes his lovers desperate but Zelda wears it especially well, perhaps because he knows how much she likes it too.

  
‘I don’t think you mind’ her voice is soft and she swipes her tongue quickly over his fingertip. Unable to resist, Faustus pushes it into her mouth and groans when she eagerly sucks it.

  
‘That’s not the point, sweetheart, and you know it. Behave’ his other hand squeezes the plump flesh of her arse as an unnecessary reminder of what he’d taken great pleasure in doing to it the last time she’d thought his commands were optional, and she lets his finger go with a soft moan.

  
‘Perhaps I don't wish to behave' he marvels at how huge her pupils have become, the bright flush on her cheeks despite the coldness of the day outside.

  
‘Yes, you do, Zelda. You want to make me proud, don't you?’ she looks almost stricken at that and opens her mouth to respond but he presses his finger to her lips again. ‘You don't need to answer. I know you want to be good for me, my good girl.’  
He's very much enjoying playing with her, getting her all riled up but Faustus can't help wishing he'd been inside her when he'd said that. From the way her eyes blink closed and take a moment to lazily open again, he can imagine how beautifully her cunt would have clenched around him. When she looks at him like that, heavy-lidded feline eyes begging him to fuck her, it takes all the self-control in the world to not pull her straight onto his cock and let her ride him until she breaks. But he manages it, circles her mouth with his thumb again and when she doesn't move a muscle, he hums with approval.

  
‘That's better. So obedient when you want to be, aren't you, sweetheart?’ his hand moves to cup her jaw, the other roaming over the slope of her hip, her gorgeous backside. ’The Dark Lord must be so proud to have such a loyal, obedient servant.’

  
The noise that Zelda makes at that is a low, raw sound, a moan that seems to come from the very depths of her and certainly goes to the depths of him. He can see the way her nails are digging into the palms of her hands, straining to touch herself, him, anything.

  
‘Look at you, you beautiful thing. Well-behaved girls get rewards, you know, when they're being as good as you’ praise Satan, she actually licks her lips when he says that and although her hips shift in a movement that's very obviously an attempt to get some friction on that needy little cunt, he's more than happy to allow it if she keeps looking at him like that. ‘What do you want, Zelda? Tell me.’

  
‘I want you to fuck me' she purrs, shifting again just a little in his lap.

  
‘Zelda’ he says warningly ‘I think you know that's not good enough. I need detail, sweetheart, if I'm going to give you an appropriate reward.’ The hand on her jaw slides down to cup one of her rather perfect tits, feeling the velvety skin beneath his fingers with a sigh of satisfaction.

  
‘I want’ she pauses, takes a deep, shuddering breath before continuing ‘I want to touch you, I want to feel how much you want me.’ Faustus doesn't fail to notice how her fingers twitch towards his belt and gives her a hum of encouragement, sliding his hand into her hair as he nods his permission. With trembling hands, Zelda undoes the buckle of his belt and in moments has both of her hands wrapped around the length of him. They groan in unison, him at the slide of soft skin over his throbbing flesh and her at the tightening of his hand in her hair. The eager stroking of her hand makes it difficult for him to gather his thoughts enough to continue, but eventually he does.

  
‘Satan, Zelda, those talented little fingers. You shouldn't give this away for free, you know, darling. Some men would give their weight in gold for hands like those’ she doesn't look up at him, eyes fixed on the sight of the fingers in question sliding over his aching erection but he can still see her throat flex as she swallows. His words are designed to get her hot but he isn't lying; the movement of her hand is sensational, so much so that it's become rather difficult to concentrate and Faustus is aware that he's rambling. ‘What would your family say, Zelda, if you gave up your studies to get fucked for a living? How would you feel, if your big brother knew you suck cock like a professional?’

  
She whines, not even bothering to hide how she's rubbing herself against his thigh while she strokes him. He can feel her through the material of his trousers, hot and wet, and he's overcome with the need to be inside that heat.

  
‘What else does my good girl want, hmm?’ his own hand makes its way over her bare thigh and he can't restrain a groan when it finds its target. She's absolutely dripping, and if he didn't need to keep his mouth free for another purpose, Faustus is fairly certain it would take the wrath of Satan himself to stop him from falling to his knees and burying his face between her silky soft thighs until she screamed. Two of his fingers swirl over the swollen clit that he's thinking in some rather graphic detail about sucking and Zelda's voice is a shuddering, rasping gasp.

  
‘Fuck me, oh Lucifer, fuck me, inside me’ Zelda doesn't say please and he doesn't want her to. He relishes bringing out what some would see as the worst of her, the greedy, hungry, selfishness that the False God would censure but that he finds almost unbearably attractive.

  
It takes mere moments to pull her hips to him and have his cock positioned right at her soaking entrance. She looks wild, hair messy and eyes glassy, and he's utterly transfixed by her, so much so that it takes the sharpness of her nails in his shoulders for Faustus to come back to himself and push into her. Immediately, Zelda's hips are moving and its his turn for sharp nails to sink into soft flesh, just to keep him anchored in reality instead of floating into heady, groundless pleasure.

  
‘My own personal Venus' he kneads the smooth flesh of her hips, firm enough to bruise ‘Astarte’ thrusts up into her, grip tightening ‘Aphrodite' bites at the pale column of her throat, hard, and she groans, grinding down onto him so vigorously that it's a concerted effort to keep breathing.

  
‘Professor Blackwood, that is blasphemy’ Zelda sounds just as breathless as he feels and her head tips back to let him suck at her collarbone but he still catches the thoroughly wicked smile on her face.

  
‘Some things are worth eternal damnation, sweetheart' he murmurs, snaking his hands up from her hips to squeeze the breasts pressing against his chest ‘I think these might be two of them.’ She huffs out a breath that Faustus might have mistaken for exasperation if he hadn't felt how tightly her cunt clenched when he spoke.

  
‘And really, Zelda, I don't think the Dark Lord could blame me for forgetting myself, not when you're fucking yourself on my cock like that’ she growls at that, a guttural noise that he'll be hearing in his dreams for the foreseeable future.  
‘After all, sweetheart, don't you just exemplify his golden rule? Taking your pleasure like the delicious little whore you are, no regard for anything else. I could just eat you up' he purrs, and he really could. Her chest is flushed pink, her eyes are unfocused and practically black, every scrap of her attention seems to be devoted to the undulation of her perfect hips. From the way she's moaning, Faustus wouldn't be surprised if she couldn't even hear him anymore. His mouth meets her neck again, close enough for him to be able to whisper:

  
‘Perfect' and Zelda comes with a cry, loud and devastatingly erotic. His hand fists tight in her hair, the other digging hard into the small of her back to keep her in place while she clenches around him and although he'd had every intention of making her come on his cock again, it would have taken a superhuman effort to not spill into her and Faustus has never had that kind of self-control.

  
When he emerges from the abyss of mindless, draining pleasure, Zelda is still panting above him. She looks completely, thoroughly fucked and he's lost. The comparison to Venus had been as much a way of making her moan as sinking his teeth into the inside of her thigh is, but it's certainly not far removed from the truth. She looks down at him, satisfied smile spread wide across her face, and Faustus wishes he could pinpoint the moment when he stopped having the upper hand in this situation. He suspects it's far, far earlier than he'd initially realised and the worst thing is, he can't even slightly bring himself to mind. 

Besides, there's hardly much point in dwelling on such intangible questions; not when he can drop to his knees, bury his face in her cunt and see if he can get her to make that wonderful noise again. 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
